


Tired Eyes

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, One curse word, basically just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6432412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are tired and tense from working on a case, fluff ensues. Playing-with-hair trope all over the place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tired Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> The case in this is from A Case of Identity in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.
> 
> Much love to @thatjohnlock for being amazing uwu

John has had enough.

It's nearly 3 AM and he and Sherlock are still looking through a Mr. Hosmer Angel's letters to their client Miss Mary Sutherland. 

"It's in the letters, there's something in the letters..." John can hear Sherlock murmuring under his breath as he flips through the papers for the hundredth time in the last five minutes. He is crouched on his chair with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his knees pulled close to his chest as his eyes dart left and right, scanning the neatly typed lines for anything he might have missed the last time he checked them, or the time before that, or the time before that. John takes a long look before he raises himself from his own chair and clears his throat.

"Sherlock, I know you don't usually sleep when you're working but honestly, when is the last time you got some rest? We've been on this case for days and frankly, you look like shit." John gazes down at the disheveled man before him with concern in his eyes.

When Sherlock looks up at John, his face conveys quite a few emotions, the foremost of which being exasperation. John knows Sherlock is about to launch into a great speech about how John knows his routines and is foolish to think he should abandon this case now, when he is so close to having solved it, for such a petty thing as rest. Before he can so much as open his mouth, however, John is at his side and leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on the top of Sherlock's head.

That shuts him right up.

"Listen, love," John begins, moving behind Sherlock and running his fingers through the detective's thick hair. "I'm just worried about you, alright?" 

Sherlock closes his eyes and hums deeply, his hands which just a moment ago clutched the letters in frustration relaxing as John's fingers drift across his scalp. 

"I don't want you to work yourself too hard and then go getting ill on me," John breathes, fingers slowly untangling themselves from the silky dark brown mop and moving to it's ends. Sherlock opens his eyes as he feels a strange tickling sensation on the back of his neck.

"What are you doing, John?"

John feels his cheeks flush slightly, and moves his hands away.

"Nothing, sorry-"

"I didn't say you had to stop."

Sherlock has pivoted on his chair to stare deep into John's eyes, and John feels the familiar prickling sensation on his skin that he often experiences when Sherlock is trying to deduce him.

Slowly Sherlock swivels back around in his chair until he is facing away from John, and begins slowly sifting through the papers once again. John takes this as his signal to continue.

"Braiding," he says, as his fingers resume twisting strands of Sherlock's long hair together. "I'm-I was braiding your hair." Even though he can't see Sherlock's face, John feels his smile brighten up the bleak and tired room.

"Isn't it a bit short for that?" Sherlock chuckles, being careful not to move his head too much as he talks and leaning into John's gentle touch. John smiles silently at this, and continues making tiny braids in Sherlock's hair and tracing shapes into the back of his neck.

They remain this way in silence for so many minutes that John nearly has a heart attack when Sherlock leaps from his chair, whooping and hollering and rummaging through a stack of papers on the table for the last puzzle piece in whatever it is he's just figured out.

"Her step-father, John, it was her step-father! The typewriter - look at the tail of the 'R' in this letter from Mr. Angel, and now at this one," he exclaims, holding up a letter from Miss Sutherland's parent. "Do you see? The same! It was him all along!"

Sherlock is quite clearly pleased with himself, a grin of satisfaction plastered across his face as he sweeps the papers aside.

"Brilliant," John mumbles, coming up behind Sherlock again and leaning his head against his shoulder blades as he wraps his arms around Sherlock's waist.

"Does that mean we can go to sleep now?"


End file.
